


Death in the Golden Hour

by Mitchi_476



Series: The Invaders [1]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29230191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mitchi_476/pseuds/Mitchi_476
Summary: The chessboard is reset. A new game has begun. And the first pawn is sacrificed.A short story about who shot Jack Thompson.
Series: The Invaders [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2146323
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Death in the Golden Hour

_Los Angeles, 1947_

Emily Gower drums her fingers on the steering wheel of the Plymouth sedan. She was trying not to look at her watch again. She knew that a minute hadn’t even passed. She checks her points again: side and rear view mirrors, rooftops, car park exits, rear hotel exit. Any mission could go to Hell at any moment and it was better to know where the shooting was coming from.

She takes a sip of her ginger ale, already warm from the stuffy cab and too sweet. She didn’t like how much sugar Americans put into everything. And she likes sweets, so that’s something. The sun was setting and one of those Santa Ana winds was blowing, making her feel itchy from sweat and oddly skittish. Her clothes are uncomfortable, the shoulder holster is suddenly tight, her makeup feels heavy, and her perfume is now sharp and metallic. Emily didn’t know if it was the weather or this mission. It’s not like they hadn’t been on dangerous missions before. Christ almighty, they had been in nothing but danger for a long time. She can’t remember the last time she had a quiet moment just to breathe. She couldn’t really remember what a quiet moment was like. 

Emily finally breaks and checks her watch. Ten minutes ago, Michael entered the hotel. He should be close to done. Their target is an SSR agent with some important files and a loose end to tie up. Seems simple, but she knew that Michael was planning only the greatest heist in intelligence history. In any other situation, this wouldn’t have bothered her at all. Her problem with the mission wasn’t the objective, if she’s being honest. The chessboard was being reset, the only difference was the look of the pieces. And it isn’t as if they’ve never betrayed people in cold blood. The problem wasn’t objective. But Emily doesn’t feel like being honest with herself at the moment.

The wind gusts and an abandoned newspaper tumbles past. It’s a weeknight, but Emily feels like Los Angeles should be more alive. Maybe it’s that wind making it unbearably hot, though. Probably a lot of people were crowded around pools as it got too dark to swim in the ocean. At this point, all she wants is a tall glass of something with gin and a dip herself. But once this part’s over, they have one more errand. They have to scoop up a wayward agent who was in a lot of trouble. They were meeting with Roger and Sigyn about it once Michael was done with part.

She checks her watch again. One minute has passed since the last check. Michael said 15 minutes. She knew where the target should be, too. The SSR had gotten lazy about secrecy, though it could be a result of them dissolving soon. But Emily had been trying to keep still the entire time, knowing that she could climb three stories in a blink of an eye and is well armed. 

Over the wind and the din of traffic, she picks up the faint pop of a welrod followed by the coppery tang of blood. Emily leans forward on the steering wheel. Chews her lip. Drags a canine on a corner. She was hungry. 

A man walks out from the back entrance. His dress is casual and he was carrying a brown valise. Micheal is fine and at least this part is over. She starts the car as he quickly crosses the car park and climbs into the front seat. 

“Took you awhile,” Emily says as they turn onto the street. They’re to head west to Santa Monica.

“Really?” He replies as he opens the valise, takes out the welrod, dismantles it, and stuffs into the glove box, “Those FBI types dawdled a bit, but otherwise, went off well.”

Emily makes an non-committal huff. The city is becoming more lively, in that seedy, city-on-the-edge way that reminded her of war-time Cairo. The night clubs were filling up, usual types on street corners, everyone looking vaguely desperate and cross from the hot wind. She wouldn’t be surprised if a few cocktail parties end with coppers breaking up a fight. Michael had taken the files out of the valise and was thumbing through them. 

A photo of a woman catches her eye and Michael lingers on it. Peggy Carter. Emily had known her once, a long time ago. They come to an intersection and stop for a red light. She looks over at Michael. He has moved on to other files, Peggy’s is now back in the valise. She hasn’t really noticed it before, but in profile, they shared a strong resemblance. Straight nose, cheekbones, the jawline, the eyes. Michael had darker hair, though. 

The light changes and Emily turns back to the road. 

“So do you have everything you want?” she asked.

“Yes. And more. They have Mackenzie’s file,” he answered. 

“That’s good,” she replies. Another objective, but for when they were safely out of the US. They fall back into silence for a while and she focuses on the flow of traffic. It didn't take her long to get used to driving on the other left side, but she still doesn't like the size of American cars. And she definitely didn't like Los Angeles traffic.

She glanced over and saw that he was staring at her.

“What?”

“You’ve been rather quiet since we landed. I know something’s bothering you.”

They reach another stop light. The sun had completely set and they are now firmly in the blue hour. Emily takes to the moment to fully look at Michael. He looks tired, and she feels tired.

“Do you have a problem with the mission?” he asks.

The light changes and Emily focuses back on the road. She takes a breath.

“I don’t have a problem with the objective of the mission. I don’t even mind the means that much,” she pauses. Partially to figure if the lorry driver in front was actually going to turn or not, partially to gather her thoughts, “But we’re doing it again. Come in, smash up the place, and leave. Let someone else clean up the mess. Another wake of human misery.” 

She gives a quick glance towards Michael. He’s leaning against the window, staring into the middle distance beyond the windscreen. They've had this conversation before. Several times, in fact. And they're probably have it more times.

“When does it stop?” Emily asks, knowing the answer but needing to ask it.

Michael takes a long moment. He’s still looking ahead at traffic, restaurants, and the still darkening sky when he says, rather quietly, “I don’t know.”

The chessboard has been reset. The pieces look different but the players are the same. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone. So this is a short story for a series of connected stories set in the MCU. My plan is for something of a soft reboot of sorts. So this is a taste of what's to come and more will be made clear as we go along!


End file.
